


Faint bloody flashes

by The_random_Ravenclaw



Series: The Mechs play with Grifter's Bone [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And it actually comes up in this fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, It's the Slaughter, Set pre-canon in while Jon is a researcher, Slaughter Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), The Mechanisms Are Grifter's Bone, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band, at least the first chapter, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_random_Ravenclaw/pseuds/The_random_Ravenclaw
Summary: Case #0120511. Statement of Lydia Walton regarding a concert that caused her to murder several other audience members. Statement given 5th of November 2012.Or: Jon deals with the aftermath of playing with Grifter's Bone as a certain statement turns up at the institute.(Sequel to "Release the coiled violence")
Series: The Mechs play with Grifter's Bone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963894
Comments: 33
Kudos: 129





	1. A Statement

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos on my last fic, they made me so happy!
> 
> This idea wouldn't leave my mind, so have some more slaughter!mechs, this time from another perspective. 
> 
> Title from "Loki"

_Case #0120511. Statement of Lydia Walton regarding a concert that caused her to murder several other audience members. Statement given 5th of November 2012._

STATEMENT BEGINS

I wasn’t even supposed to go to that concert in the first place. And I mean that both in the sense that I hadn’t planned on going to a concert that night and that the concert I went to wasn’t the one I ended up at. I’m not even sure if the second concert even took place on the same night as the first one.

The first point is the worst though. What if I’d simply stayed home that night like I was supposed to? Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, but what if it had? My life would still be normal and my ears wouldn’t bleed. 

I shouldn’t dwell on hypotheticals, what happened has already happened and now I’m here to tell you about it. I don’t know what good it will do, but I think I may feel better if someone else knows what actually happened. 

Maybe you’ll even find out why. That’s what you do, right? You research spooky stories and find out what actually happened and why.

I can’t really tell anyone else since I don’t want to deal with a murder investigation, although I doubt they could prove anything. I guess I just don’t want my friends to look at me like I’m crazy if I tried to tell them.

I know how this sounds, but I promise you, this actually happened. I know it did and I’ve even got the wounds to prove it. I just need someone to believe me.

I guess I should start this story from the beginning. I’m studying for a Bachelor’s degree and on the evening of October 13th I was supposed to be at home, studying for a test a few days later. Instead, my friend Katherine Mills had managed to convince me to go out with her to a bar.

You see, my girlfriend had broken up with me earlier that week so I wasn’t really in the best headspace. Katherine had taken it upon herself to cheer me up, and I decided to go along with it in the hopes that it would actually work. A Saturday evening at a bar might be a nice change of pace from moping and studying.

We went to a small bar in Brixton I hadn’t heard of before. There was apparently some punk trio playing there that night that Katherine wanted to see and I thought it sounded alright.

There isn’t much to say about the night out itself. The music was pretty good, nothing special, but Katherine seemed to enjoy it. We had fun but didn’t drink that much, so I was mostly sober when the clock approached ten and the trio was finishing up. 

That’s when the weird things started to happen. Katherine had gone to fetch herself a final drink, so I sat alone at our small table along the edge of the room. 

Suddenly I felt something pass through me. Not a shiver, more like something settled over me. I shook myself to get rid of the feeling, but it stayed. It was like a numbness at the back of my brain and at first I thought I might have been drugged, but I’d kept an eye on my drink all night so that shouldn’t be possible. 

That worry quickly went away, as if whatever that feeling was dulled my sense of worry. I mean, I was aware that I should be worried but somehow I just didn’t care. There were lots of red flags, but I stayed in my seat, unbothered by it. 

That numbness was why I didn’t panic when I turned around and couldn’t see Katherine anywhere. The fact that the room had almost emptied of people registered, but I didn’t react to it at all. Aside from me there can’t have been more than fifteen others in the room and I couldn’t recognise any of them from before. 

Some of them were dressed oddly though, like they weren’t supposed to be at a bar. A few wore heavy coats, one guy wore builder’s protective gear, like he’d just gone here straight from work. One woman wore drawstring trousers and a t-shirt, like she’d been at home watching TV or something.

My memories are really hazy at this point of the night, but I know some time passed, maybe ten minutes. I must’ve started to chat with the other patrons, because I stood among them when the music started and that weird feeling went away. 

All of us turned towards the stage, searching for the source of the clear and haunting tone that filled the room. It was just one note, but it was beautiful and transfixed me.

I can still picture the people on the stage clearly, just in that moment when time seemed to stand still, before the music started in earnest. That moment will be imprinted in my memory forever.

It was then I realised I hadn’t looked towards the stage since Katherine left to get her drink. The punk trio was nowhere to be seen, and in their place were lots of people I’d never seen before. 

At the front, behind a small keyboard, stood a short man whose brown suit hang loosely around his thin frame. He was the one who’d played that note. Somehow I knew him to be Grifter’s Bone, although I had no idea what that meant. 

Even so, I had no clue about who the others were. I could count to nine of them, all wearing steampunk clothing and picking up their instruments, making themselves ready to play. 

Despite standing on the stage with him, there was something about them that set them apart from Grifter’s Bone. Somehow I got the feeling that they were only there by accident, just lke me. 

If you disregard my vague feeling, their clothing made it clear that he wasn’t one of them. I’m not judging them or anything, it was actually kind of cool, but you could tell they’d gone all in for the steampunk look.

The guy I thought looked like their leader had at least five belts and he’d painted black streaks around his eyes that somehow stood out against his dark skin. A woman in the back had some kind of wings on her back and one guy had painted his face to look like metal. The others had made equally unusual fashion choices.

Eventually the both the moment and the note ended. Grifter struck a chord and began to play a melody. His fingers left dark red stains on the keys. Soon the other band, because it was clear that’s what they were, joined in and the music began in earnest.

The first note had felt like a calling to me, eerie and haunting, but the melody that followed it filled me with energy and strength. 

My heart was pounding, my body flooded with adrenaline and my senses sharpened. It was the most intense feeling I’ve ever felt and the tension in the room thickened until you could almost touch it. The band members wore identical expressions of vicious joy as the music gained speed. I clenched my fist, ready for a fight.

After that, I mostly remember things in flashes, like some kind of out-of body experience. I remember parts of what happened, but dethatched. 

I can’t even remember how the music sounded, but I know it was there in the background, tying it all together and fuelling our brutality. We, the audience, were the dancers, dancing to the music of slaughter and destroying each other in the process. 

Before this, I never thought myself capable of murder. Not like I’d have wanted to, violence never spoke to me and killing people are wrong. I still did it though, and no one except me controlled my actions.

The music wasn’t some kind of compulsion or mind control that made me do things I couldn’t have done otherwise. I’ve always had the potential (and perhaps even desire) for such violence inside me, I just didn’t know it until the music brought it out. I even enjoyed the fight while it lasted and even now, I’d do it again.

Somehow the lack of restraint felt right, familiar, as if murdering people in a bar was what I was supposed to do. Only that I’d never noticed until that beautiful music made the blood pound in my ears. I still don’t remember the music, but I know it was beautiful, in the same way that the destruction I caused was beautiful.

Everything happened so fast after the other band had joined Grifter’s Bone. One second we were staring at them as they started to play and next thing I remember I’d grabbed a bottle of wine from the bar and smashed it over someone’s head. 

Can’t remember much more than the satisfying thud as it hit his head and he went down. Not for long though, I’m pretty sure I saw him punch another man a few minutes later.

I will never forget the maniac smile of the woman who stabbed me in the side. She looked like she thoroughly enjoyed it (and I probably looked the same when I stabbed her in the stomach with my broken bottle in retaliation). She might have been laughing. 

I can’t remember if I screamed or not. Some people did though, the air was full of screams. Some screamed in pain and fear, others in anger and joy, like battle cries. 

The screams were joined by the sound of impact, of fists hitting flesh and the tearing and ripping sound of bodies being pulled apart by brute force.

The first man I remember killing had punched me, so I grabbed him by the throat and choked him until he stopped moving. Then I punched his face until it was an unrecognisable mess. It was so satisfying, knowing I controlled life and death. I was invincible and let out a cry of victory as I turned towards my next victim.

I must’ve killed more people after him. I remember tearing, punching, kicking and fighting. My blood rushed and I was high on the feeling as people fell before my fists and the broken bottle I still clutched in my left hand. 

I’ve never considered myself an angry person, but right then I was filled to the brim with rage. There was no apparent reason for the anger, but it caused me to hit a little bit harder and granted me strength enough to rip the others apart. Literally.

After a while of this I was the only one left standing. The unrecognisable remains of the people I’d been fighting lay on the floor around me. 

The music slowed and all that energy slowly left me and I just became numb again. Can’t remember if I felt anything in particular about the corpses under my feet and the blood on my hands.

When it finally stopped I didn’t even spare a glance towards the stage, just limped outside. Next thing I know I was in the hospital, being treated for a multitude of injuries. The nurse even remarked that some of the wounds on my arm looked like claw marks, but I didn’t tell her she was right.

They tried everything they could think of to make my ears stop bleeding, but it was impossible. Couldn’t even tell where the blood was coming from, so they just let it be. 

There’s no rational explanation to that blood. I’ve found that people are willing to go to remarkable lengths just to deny the supernatural. I’ve always been agnostic in that sense, so maybe that’s why I’m not more surprised about everything.

Katherine was the first to come visit me. She told me that I’d vanished when she went to fetch drinks and that she’d searched for me everywhere. After a few hours she’d given up and reported me as missing to the police.

Apparently I hadn’t been found until the next evening, covered in my own blood and lying in an alley about one block from the bar. Somehow I’d lost an entire day although I could swear that the concert didn’t last more than an hour at most.

I told them some vague story about how I’d gone outside to get some air, been taken away and beaten up. Told them that I didn’t want to press charges, since I couldn’t remember anything about the people who did it. I don’t know if anyone actually bought it but I could hardly tell them the truth, could I?

After getting out of the hospital I tried to get on with my life. I bought a pair of ear plugs to stop the blood from getting everywhere and it seems to be working so far. It serves as a reminder though. A reminder of what I did.

According to the news, there was no massacre in a bar that night. No mention anywhere of the almost fifteen people who lost their lives that night. I guess I should be thankful that I won’t be suspected for murder, but it feels wrong, almost disrespectful.

I went back to the bar a few days later. None of the staff I asked remembered anything weird about that night and I found no trace of the bodies. Like nothing happened at all. It couldn’t have; it’s not possible to get that much blood out of a carpet. But I know that it happened, just not how or why.

It scares me to know that I am capable of killing like that. Logically, I know it wasn’t my fault. That music worked as some kind of catalyst and took away my sense of restraint. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

It was still me who did it though, and it frightens me to know that I could do it again. I have the strength to stab someone or tear of an arm. I know how it feels to take someone’s life and I dread potentially losing control and doing it again. 

The thing that scares me most though, is that deep inside I want to. I’ve never felt better than during that concert and if I got the chance to hear that music again, to feel my body come alive as I tear others apart, I wouldn’t even hesitate.

STATEMENT ENDS


	2. An Acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back (punks and rebels) to another chapter, this time with more Jon, less murder and an appearance from our favourite (not yet) archival assistant.
> 
> This chapter probably won't make much sense if you haven't read "Release the coiled violence" yet so this is a good time to go do that if you haven't
> 
> Content warnings: Jon almost has a panic attack and there's some (a lot of) swearing

Jon’s life was almost back to normal again, or as normal as life could be after killing people by playing some music. He was at least back at work since a few weeks ago and had managed to get the self-hate and guilt to manageable levels, so he was fine. At least for a given definition of fine.

He’d taken a few days off work after the show, claiming to be sick, just to process everything. All of them had done so and spent the days together, discussing how to move forward. 

They’d crashed at Tim and Brian’s shared flat the first night, since it was the largest one any of them owned (but it was still a tight squeeze to fit all nine of them in). A normal performance was exhausting on its own, and playing with Grifter’s Bone had made it even worse, so they fell asleep almost as soon as they’d crossed the threshold. 

The next day had been a lot rougher. The reality of having caused people to die started to sink in and all of them had at least one break down. At least they had each other for support.

What followed was arguing about if it was actually their fault or not, which there were different opinions on in the group. Jon, Tim and Marius blamed themselves for not doing more to stop Grifter and/or resisting, while others like Ashes, Raphaella and TS argued that they were forced to play and that resisting more probably wouldn’t have helped.

After lots of discussion those blaming themselves were reluctantly convinced that they weren’t at fault for what happened. They also agreed to hope Grifter was right and assume that those people were already dead. It was, after all, easier to live with. 

Ashes had gone so far as to forbid their bandmates from taking the blame, since nothing would have happened if not for Grifter interfering. None of them had chosen to start playing and they’d made resistance before Grifter started to play, so it was clear that they weren’t at fault. Besides, none had known what would happen if they did. 

Jon still blamed himself of course, how could he not? He could’ve resisted more, stopped playing or at least not enjoyed it. But so could any of the others and he didn’t blame them, so as Brian had tried to tell him, why should he hold himself to higher standards? 

(Because I’m the Captain, a quiet voice inside him said. As the leader, it’s my duty to protect the others. He never said it out loud, because he wasn’t really the Captain, just pretending to be someone pretending to be the captain.)

Thinking back, Jon thought that they’d handled everything with surprising emotional maturity. Marius even held some kind of therapy sessions, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually a therapist. He had however taken a course in amateur psychology once and read a little about the subject in his spare time, so he was probably more qualified than the rest of them. Even though they hated to admit it, the “therapy” actually worked a little.

Once the band members were mostly fine and had finished sorting out the morality of the situation, Raphaella insisted on trying to play together. She wanted to know if their music would cause people to fight even without Grifter or if they could continue performing together in the future. The unspoken question was what would happen if the band would have to break up.

Of course, they wouldn’t want to endanger anyone, so they set up an arrangement where two at a time would play or sing something. Behind each one of the performers stood two others, wearing earplugs and ear-muffs. If the music had any effect on the remaining three that acted as audience, they would intervene and stop the music as fast as possible. Then they’d switch roles to make sure everyone was affected in the same way.

Through trial and error they found that there were no problems if they played as they usually did. More worryingly, they found that if they tried, they were able to channel the energy they’d played with on that night, causing the audience to start fighting. 

Luckily, none of them were harmed beyond a few small scrapes, but it was worth it just to know the limits of what they could safely do.

After finding out that they could still harm people by playing or singing, they swore to never do it again, with a possible exception for life threatening situations. It turned out that all of them could feel that pull, urging them to give in and keep singing violence, but they hoped that a joint decision to ignore it would stop them from causing more harm. If they didn’t, they could even keep performing like before, which was something none of them wanted to lose.

Another thing the band had done during those days was to monitor the news closely. Even if Grifter told them that they didn’t have to worry about the police, it was hard to see why they shouldn’t. 

The floor of the bar had been covered in gore when they left and someone must have noticed it. Even if they weren’t suspected for murder they wanted to know what was written about the massacre.

There was nothing. No trace of the violent bar murder that should’ve made first page news to be found anywhere. 

Ivy, believing she was the least likely to be recognised, had volunteered to go back to the bar and investigate. She found no trace of any violence ever having happened there. No blood, no damage, just a normal bar where nothing had happened. 

She talked to some of the staff, but found they had no recollection of anything weird happening there on October 12th. The band had packed up and left as usual, the bartender told her. Nothing out of place had happened, why did she ask? Ivy left quickly after that.

It was probably good for them that the bodies were never found. Jon hated it though. He hated that they got away with no consequences for something so horrible. 

Sure, he’d joked more than his fair share about committing crimes when playing Jonny d’Ville, but that was fiction. In reality there should be consequences for making people murder each other, something that weighed up for the enjoyment he felt doing it. 

As it was now, the experience had mostly been a positive one and he’d felt great during the show. Combined with the knowledge that Jon could do it again if he wished to caused him to dread the hypothetical moment he lost his resolve not to hurt others. 

The other band members seemed to think in similar ways, so he was happy they made that promise to each other. Hopefully it would be enough to hold them back if needed.

* * *

Jon was brought out of his musings by a cheery voice coming from the desk beside his own. He looked up to see Tim Stoker, the office extrovert who seemed hell bent on befriending him, standing in front of his desk with a few papers in one hand. Right, he was still at work and should probably do his job.

“Hey Jon, did you know today is your lucky day? I’ve brought you something!” 

Jon was about to ask Tim to to please leave him alone and perhaps do some of his own work instead, since he wasn’t really in the mood for speaking, but Tim continued.

“I know, I know.” He mockingly held up his hands and even took a step back “You hate everything that isn’t related to work, having fun is unprofessional, etcetera, etcetera. This is actually work related, so no need to worry about it, your reputation as a boring person who only cares about work will remain intact.” 

“So enlighten me then, what is it?” Jon cut in. “And just for the record, I do have a life outside of work.” In the back of his mind, Jon wondered what Tim would say if he found out about his side-gig as an immortal space pirate.

“Sure you do, you’ve said so before. I still won’t believe you until you prove it,” Tim replied, voice light and teasing. 

Jon sighed. The headache that had begun forming that morning was growing worse. “What did you want?”

“Big boss Bouchard gave me these on my way in” Tim waved with a small stack of papers. “It’s the statements from last week, four of them, all ready to be researched. He told me to give half of them to you specifically. Got any idea why?”

“No, he’s just cryptic as usual. What are they about?” 

“Let’s see…” Tim quickly skimmed the first few pages “The first one is about a haunted apartment complex, some lady who claims she saw a ghost in the laundry room. There’s one about a cursed jewel necklace inherited from a mysterious relative…” He flipped through a few more pages “…and one about a guy who’s convinced his pencil sharpener is possessed. Last one seems to be about some spooky murder music”

Could it be-, no it couldn’t, it was probably just a coincidence, nothing to worry about. Still one hell of a coincidence that someone had decided to give a fake statement about murder music just a few weeks after that concert. 

What if it wasn’t a coincidence and the only survivor actually had left a statement? Even so, Jon should be sure about it before starting to panic. 

“Did you just say murder music?”

“No, I said spooky murder music, big difference there. Anyways, it’s by a woman who claims she murdered a whole bar because of a band playing some music, except there were no bodies to be found afterwards. Really spooky if you ask me. You want it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was way too similar to be a coincidence. This couldn’t be happening. What were the odds of this specific statement being given to him and not anyone else? 

Wait, Elias had requested that he specifically get some of these statements. Did he know anything? No, that shouldn’t be possible. The only person who were there outside of the Mechs themselves was the sole survivor. Who apparently left a statement. Fuck, what if…

“Hello, Earth to Jon, do you want the statement or not? Looks like you spaced out a bit” Oh shit, Tim was still there and expecting an answer to his question. Couldn’t he even have a crisis in peace?

“Oh, um. Y- Yes, I’ll take it. Sorry, I’m a bit tired, I didn’t sleep too well” That’s not a suspicious thing to say, right? It wasn’t a lie per se, he’d woken up at 4 am from another nightmare and barely managed to fall asleep afterwards.

“No problem. Here you go.” Jon’s hands only shook a little as Tim handed him the statement. Great. Now how could he make Tim leave so he could panic in peace? 

Oh fuck, Tim continued to speak to him. Jon was hardly keeping it together enough to be able to hold a conversation. Couldn’t Tim just go? 

“Which one of the others do you want?” 

“I don’t really have a preference, it’s all lies anyways,” he said, trying to act normal, like the nightmare scenario he’d been worrying about for the last few weeks hadn’t just happened. At least Tim hadn’t seemed to pick up on his weird behaviour yet. 

“Okay, here’s the possessed pencil sharpener one” Tim put the statement file on Jon’s desk and bid him goodbye, complete with a dramatic bow.

Jon managed to grunt out a ‘thanks’ before starting to panic again. Did Elias know anything about this or was everything just a big coincidence? Was it some kind of threat or was Elias taunting him before firing and/or arresting him? 

What would’ve happened if someone else researched that statement, could they possibly have connected it to Jon? Or the other band members?

Jon’s breathing quickened and his heart raced as the thoughts started to spiral. He’d have to read what he did to that woman in detail, why had he agreed to research this statement again? 

He had to do it, it was a sacrifice he’d have to do to avoid being found out, but that didn’t make reading it much better.

Jon could feel a panic attack approaching and tried to will his thoughts away. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Wasn’t that what Nastya taught him to do when panicking? Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He couldn’t panic here, the room was full of people who might suspect something was off and maybe look into that statement and maybe… No. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Stop thinking.

There was a time and place for panicking and it was not at work. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He had to do his job and stay calm, nobody would suspect him if he just stayed calm. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He’d have to read that statement and face what he did. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He could handle that.

He’d have to do research on it and what would he find and what if it pointed to him and what if… No. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He had to stay calm. Just read it and do some research. Nothing he hadn’t done before. Just like a normal statement. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. He could even cover it up. No one would look too closely at it, he knew that. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. 

Yes, that’s what he’d do. He would cover it up, make sure no one had any reason at all to look into it and then file it away. No one would ever know. His friends would be safe.

Having successfully calmed down and with a strengthened resolve, Jon cast a glance around the room. None of the other researchers seemed to have noticed his panicking, so he picked up the statement and prepared to read it. 

Maybe reading a statement about his recent trauma right after he almost had a panic attack about it wasn’t actually that smart, but self-care had never been Jon’s strong suit. How bad could it possibly be? 

Maybe it was about some other murder musicians and the panicking had been unnecessary (but he knew that wasn’t the case). Better get it done sooner rather than later.

_Case #0120511. Statement of Lydia Walton regarding a concert that drove her to murder. Statement given 5th of November 2012._

Jon took a deep breath and began to read. The beginning wasn’t actually that bad. Sure, he was sorry that he couldn’t tell Lydia that he believed her story and present her with some good research, but that was hardly the worst thing he’d done to her. Not giving her closure was nothing compared to being the one who gave her the trauma in the first place.

It was a little concerning that she apparently never went to the Mechanism’s concert in the first place, just some punk band. The dates didn’t even match up. Could he be mistaken? Maybe she wasn’t their victim after all.

That sliver of doubt vanished when she started to describe the band. There was no other band that could match her description, no mistaking that description of himself. It was actually very disturbing to read about himself in a statement, but he still smiled a bit at the part about his belts, something that his friends often teased him about.

She’d even pinned him as the leader, which he was strangely pleased with (Maybe one day he would be able to joke about it, that even with Grifter at the front, she’d seen that Jonny d’Ville was the real captain. Not for a long time though.).

The way she described the fight itself shook him to the core. It was very vivid and way too similar to the way he’d felt while playing for comfort and he hated knowing that he caused it. 

He could relate to the fear she expressed at the end too. They didn’t fear the violence itself, just the way they enjoyed it and the knowledge that they’d do it again, almost without hesitation.

Weirdly enough, Jon thought it seemed like she didn’t blame the Mechanisms. She seemed to blame Grifter a little, but mostly herself. Even then she didn’t seem ashamed or remorseful. Maybe she’d just accepted the violent part of herself and left no room for regret. 

STATEMENT ENDS

Jon put the papers down on his desk, hands shaking slightly. It was time to do some research. And it was time to cover this whole thing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my attempt at writing something that's not murder music. If you did, please consider leaving a comment or kudos since that gives me enough dopamine to survive the probable avatar of the Dark that is autumn/winter in Sweden.


	3. Follow-up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter. It's shorter than the others, but I hope you'll like it anyways.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they bring me so much joy!

_Follow-up notes on statement #0120511, compiled by Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute, London (as filed in the Archives):_

An interview with Miss Katherine Mills supports parts of Miss Walton’s statement. According to her, they went out to “The Old Oak” bar in Brixton to listen to a punk trio on the 13th of October. When she couldn’t find her friend she searched for a few hours before filing a missing persons report and visited her in the hospital after she was found the next evening.

The police report I found confirms that she was found on the evening the 14th of October and it includes the story Miss Walton claims she made up about how she went out for some air, got kidnapped and subsequently assaulted.

The hospital records shows that Miss Walton was treated for a stab wound, three broken fingers, a sprained ankle and 54 smaller injuries, including the “claw marks” she mentions in the statement. However, they mention nothing about bleeding ears.

Just like Miss Walton herself, I could neither find any news about a massacre at “The Old Oak”, nor any traces of violence when I went there myself to investigate. 

There are no reports of violence in the area that night and the staff did not notice anything out of the ordinary. The fight Miss Walton describes can’t possibly have occurred in the Brixton area that night.

All the evidence points towards Miss Walton’s story being untrue and I suspect she hallucinated the entire thing. She admitted to drinking alcohol and her memory problems during the supposed event itself lends me to believe that she was drugged, kidnapped and because of the stress and substances hallucinated this band during her assault as a way to cope.

Even though the story is made up, the sentiments she expresses at the end of her statement worries me. I find her willingness to murder alarming, so as a precaution I took the liberty to leave the police a tip about observing her for signs of violent behaviour.

* * *

_Evidence omitted from the follow-up notes on statement #0120511 filed in the archives, compiled by Jonathan Sims in his personal investigative capacity (as written down in a small notebook, well hidden in his flat):_

Almost all the follow-up I did for the institute is true, except for the fact that I never went back to the bar to investigate and my false speculations to throw them off. I didn’t leave a tip to the police either, since I don’t want to bring attention to this case.

Hopefully my follow-up is enough to ensure nobody researches this statement further. Then I can consider this covered up and we will be safe. 

I did some more digging though, but what I found doesn’t shed light on anything, it just makes everything seem even more illogical than before. I’ll write it down here though so that it’s all in one place.

First of all, the dates don’t match up. The Mechanisms played with Alfred Grifter on the 12th of October 2012 at “The Old Oak” in Brixton, one day before the date Miss Walton claims she went to a concert there and two days before she was found. It makes no sense, since all of these events should have occurred the same evening.

The only explanation as to how Miss Walton could have attended our concert the day before she went to it and was found outside the day after is some kind of time travel, which shouldn’t be possible. Neither does making people kill each other by playing the harmonica for them, so time travel might as well be real. I suppose this is just my life now.

I know that Lydia Walton went to our concert. The descriptions of myself, my bandmates, Alfred Grifter and the general course of events match up with our show on the 12th, but I recognise her too. The photo of her in the missing persons file looks exactly like the woman at our show, just less bloody.

While searching the police database (Nastya helped me access it) for any records of violence, I found something peculiar. In the month before the concert, there were thirteen reports of death by violence in the London area.

One of them was a builder killed at work and one woman was killed during a burglary in her home, which fits with the clothing Lydia described other audience members wearing. I can’t remember much of how the audience looked, but some of their faces strike me as familiar.

If these murder victims were indeed the audience at our show, it matches up with what Grifter said about most of them already being dead. I instinctively don’t want to trust him, but if it was true, which these reports seem to confirm, then it does indeed make it easier to live with myself.

I did some research into Grifter’s bone and Alfred Grifter himself, and he seems to be some kind of urban legend in the music community. I wasn’t able to find much on the subject, but there are a few forum posts.

According to them he was a musician who turned to the dark arts to get better, but something went wrong and now his music is so awful that he has to sneak into other people’s gigs to play it. The music is supposedly so bad that people tear their ears off.

There’s definitely something paranormal going on with him, but I doubt it is satanism, witchcraft or whatever else the forum posts take up. He does sneak into other people’s gigs to play, as evidenced by what he did to us, but it’s not because the music is bad. It was beautiful.

I’m lucky that I was the one to research this statement, otherwise I don’t know what would’ve happened. 

There can’t be too many other nine-member steam punk themed bands in London, and even if there were any, the description of us is too detailed. We would easily be connected to the scene if you did some research, especially since we played at “The Old Oak” the day before.

The worst thing about this is that I can’t tell Lydia what actually happened and apologise, or even tell her that I believe her story and that it actually happened.

I doubt it would make any real difference for her though, since I doubt any of us could say something that would make this situation any better. 

What happened has happened and I’ll try to make my peace with it. If that’s even possible. It’s at least better now that I have some kind of proof that we never caused anyone to die. 

I’ll have to share my findings with the others next time we meet. They’ll hopefully be happy to hear that our victim is fine, or at least as fine as the circumstances allow. I should bring a transcription of the statement too, they deserve the choice to read it if they want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As usual, please consider leaving comments or kudos if you enjoed, I love to hear what you think.
> 
> I don't know if I'll write more in this universe, but I have some half-formed ideas so it could happen
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [therandomravenclw](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/therandomravenclw)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you thought 
> 
> I've already half-written the other chapters, so I'll be back soon with more Jon and less murder.


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